


just being a decent human (friend)

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [31]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Early in Canon, M/M, Not Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018) Compliant, Protective Newton Geiszler, he's small but he's ready to fIGHT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 01:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18272948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: Newt doesnottake kind to a J-Tech's views of a certain stuck-up physicist





	just being a decent human (friend)

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "If you write shorts: Newt being protective over Hermann in the early academy days (or pre pr1) 😋"

“…yeah, dude thinks he’s so smart.” Newt doesn’t make a habit of eavesdropping in on J-Tech conversations, mostly because he generally doesn’t spend much time near J-Techs. But this doesn’t really count as eavesdropping, since they’re sitting at the table across from his in the mess hall, talking loudly enough that anyone with ears can hear.

“Yeah, stuck up bastard. Just because he’s got a PhD, he thinks he’s better than us,” the other grumbles. Ah, Newt thinks, it must be about him. What he’s done to piss of these particular J-Techs, he’s got no clue, but it must’ve been something—“ _Doctor Gottlieb_ ,” the first continues, in a voice of disgust. “Fuck that cripple, always hanging around the  _actual_  genius. Fuck knows what Geiszler sees in him—we’d all be better off without him.”

Newt doesn’t even register that he’s risen until he bumps the table, the tray clattering slightly against the metal surface, fists clenched. “Say that again,” he hisses, “I fucking  _dare_  you.”

The J-Tech glances at him, surprised. “What’re you on, Geiszler? The bastard’s always insulting you and your work—if anything, you should be agreeing with us.”

“Hermann is worth  _ten_  of you,” Newt snarls. “He’s the only reason you’re here and not crushed by a kaiju already, so you’d better shut the fuck up with that—”

The two techs exchange a look. “Oh, I get it,” pipes the second one. “You think you gotta defend him ‘cause he’s banging you—” Newt sees red. Within seconds, he’s on the tech, fists stinging from their contact with the other’s face, his own pain as the much larger man swings at him dimmed by the roar of blood in his ears.

The fight is over in under a minute, onlookers hastening to separate them, and Newt finds himself restrained by a few people. Blood’s dripping from his nose and his jaw aches, but he grins jaggedly at the J-Tech, who’s lip is split, and thinks,  _take that, fucker._

Later, Hermann comes to collect him from the infirmary. “I hope the Marshal’s given you a stern talking-to, Newton,” he says, but the way his mouth is tight at the edges, the softness of his touch as he tilts Newt’s head to inspect the damage belay worry.

Newt smiles, though the action’s painful. “Yeah, he sure did, dude, but it was totally worth it.”

Hermann raises a brow. “I doubt that there could possibly be a good reason for you to’ve gotten into a fist-fight with a man twice your size,” he says dubiously. Newt shrugs in reply, glad when Hermann leaves it at that.

* * *

“That’s what that was?” Hermann asks, four years and one almost-apocalypse later. He’s changed out of his grimy clothes, but his eye mirrors Newt’s, and they’re pressed together in his tiny bunk, Newt’s face pressed in the hollow of his neck.

“What was what?” Newt mumbles. “Dude, look, just because we Drifted doesn’t mean I can read your mind. You gotta tell me what you mean.”

Hermann’s fingers card through his hair, and he hums. “That time you got into a physical altercation with that J-Tech—what was his name, Joyce? Ryce?”

“No clue, don’t care.”

He can practically feel Hermann’s eyeroll. “Well, love, that might be why the J-Techs all hold at least one grudge against you—you can’t remember their names.”

“Hey, it’s not as if I really ever talk to them,” Newt points out. “But you were saying?”

“You got into a fight with a man twice your size because he insulted me?” Hermann asks, amusement tinging his tone. “You really were head-over-heels for me, weren’t you?”

“Still am, man,” Newt murmurs. “Really, though, I was just being a decent—friend. Human? Not sure what we were at that point, to be honest.”

Hermann goes silent for a moment, fingers stilling, before he says, quietly, “…thank you, Newton. No one—no one’s ever done that for me before.”

“Well, get used to it,” Newt replies, and yawns. “G’night, Hermann.”

“Good night, Newton,” Hermann murmurs in reply, arms wrapped around him, and Newt drifts off to the sound of his even breaths.


End file.
